Ava was in tears. Not only had she just lost her best friend, but people close to her – folks she usually counted on for support – were acting cold-hearted by telling her things like, “C’mon, get over it!”
Ava’s best friend was Minerva, a marmalade tabby cat that had been her companion for close to fifteen years. The cat sat with Ava when her husband, Gregory, underwent chemotherapy and later passed from cancer. Minerva was there to hop up on Ava’s lap as each of her two children left home to marry and start their own families. And Minerva was around to curl up by Ava’s feet at night on the bed, letting her know she was not alone.
Ava grieved for her four-legged friend, and it hurt when some of her closest acquaintances thought they were trying to lighten her mood by making comments like, “It’s just a cat,” and, “It’s not like someone in your family died!”
“Yes, she was part of my family,” Ava later told me during our Zoom session. “I loved her as much as I loved my husband and my children.”
“I understand completely,” I agreed. “When my husband decided to come to Toronto to be with me, he had to give up his cat, Sweetie, because I’m allergic to cat dander. But he was thankful that his good friend, who often cat-sat Sweetie when he went out of town, was happy to adopt her. Sweetie went to live with someone who already loved her and she was familiar with.”
I told Ava that I sensed her acquaintances weren’t trying to be mean. People who have never had a pet can’t understand what it means to open your heart and share your life with an animal. I gave her the example of one client who, after his hamster passed, kept its wheel and cage out on the shelf as a memorial.
Another client told me he kept dreaming that his dog, Sinclair, was munching taco chips out of a big blue bowl. Sinclair had stomach cancer and had stopped eating. I said to my client, “This is Sinclair’s way of telling you he’s alright now – he can eat anything again.” (Evidently, Sinclair used to be a real “chow hound” – pun intended.)
Hearing those stories made Ava smile. Then she asked if I could connect with Minerva. I centred myself and concentrated on a photograph of Minerva sitting in a windowsill, which Ava had emailed me before our session.
“I’m feeling a sense of gratitude,” I said. “She’s making me feel like you helped end her misery, and she’s grateful for that.”
Ava let pass a few tears, but I felt these were tears of joy and relief. “She was very ill at the end, and I felt it was best to put her down,” she said. “But I’m always wondering – did I do the right thing? Would she have recovered?”
In my mind, I was hearing a very loud NO! Minerva’s pain and suffering was getting worse and worse; and spirit told me Minerva would have lived maybe another week.
I told Ava this, adding, “It’s normal to have survivor’s guilt. When it comes to putting down a pet, it all depends on one’s intention. Was the euthanasia done because the animal was in great pain, or was it done because the person just got tired of having it around?”
“Oh, my goodness,” Ava gasped. “Do some people really do that?”
“People make decisions based on what’s best for them and their pets. But Minerva is telling me she thanks you for being a good friend and she’ll visit you at night now and then to curl up at your feet.”
I then felt the presence of a male energy, and I visualized a man sitting with a cat in his lap. I described the middle-aged fellow with silvery hair and a sharp crease in his pants, and Ava recognized her husband Gregory, who was enjoying Minerva’s new company. Gregory passed on a few messages to Ava, and our session ended.
Later I felt something brushing my ankles and looked down. “Sweetie, is that you?” I said. Though allergic to her, I had met Sweetie several times, and it was nice to have her pop by to say hi. Thankfully, cats in spirit don’t shed dander.
If you have any questions or comments on this subject or on any other spiritual matter, feel free to contact me through this website. And please visit me again!